“Oh, James,” she said sadly. “Won’t I ever see you again?”
“If the world ever becomes normal again you will. I promise you, Polly. When all of this is over I’ll be back.”
“Wait just a minute,” she said. “Don’t leave yet. There is something I want to give you.”
She walked into the parlor and a few seconds later James heard a loud crash as someone kicked in the front door. Then Polly screamed and a loud voice shouted, “Where the hell is he?”
James wanted to leap out the back door but Polly was in trouble. He hurried into the parlor with his revolver at the ready but it would do him no good. Who else would the intruder be but Sheriff Wilkes? His gun was also drawn and pointed at Polly’s head and he held her tightly around the waist.
“Drop that shooter or this young lady’s gonna have a bad accident.” James immediately dropped his weapon and the sheriff shoved Polly towards a chair. “Sit down and be still,” he told her. Then he ordered James to sit in the chair next to her. He sat down feeling like the biggest fool in the world for believing that he had gotten the sheriff off his trail. Either Wilkes was the smarter one or something had happened to point a finger back at James. In any case, he was kicking himself for not moving away from Dry Branch. Far too much had happened and he should have known that the ice was too thin.
Suddenly, the sheriff’s mood changed from bad to an imitated version of pleasant. Apparently he had James right where he wanted him and he was enjoying the moment.
“Well now, young people,” he said. “I hope you all are in a lively mood because we’re gonna have a party. But we can’t start yet because not all of the guests have arrived. It will only be a minute or two.” James looked over at Polly. She was white knuckled and terrified. He felt a paralyzing sense of regret inside for getting her mixed up in such a mess. The sound of a horse’s whinny came from out back, and then footsteps entered through the door. Into the parlor walked Israel, the boy, and another man behind them carrying a shotgun. “Here we are at last,” said the sheriff. “Now the party can commence. Just a couple small details. Roscoe,” he said to the man with the shotgun. “Tie that nigger up and sit him on the floor then tie that nigger lover, too, and tie em tight. Sit that boy down, but no need to tie him. He ain’t goin nowhere.”
When everything was to the sheriff’s satisfaction, he holstered his pistol and stuck James’s revolver in his belt. Roscoe took a seat and laid his shotgun across his lap. “I must say, Mr. Mason, if that’s your real name, that you had me fairly convinced for a while there and you are a man of considerable luck. But your luck has run out for good. You ever hear of the Carlton brothers?”
“No, I never have,” James answered.
“Well, that ain’t important. But what is important is that there are only two of them and there used to be three. The third brother was the overseer at Live Oak Plantation, you know, the one that was killed the night of the escape? All three of em worked over there. After they rounded up all the niggers that didn’t get away, the remaining two Carltons couldn’t wait to go after the wagonload that did. So the following morning they took two extra men and picked up the trail. What you didn’t know was that your horse had a loose shoe on his right front hoof and it left a real funny print. Now these two boys are pretty damn good trackers and it wasn’t any trouble at all to follow that wagon right to the farm owned by a man name Sam Gilmore. I know you heard of him.” James didn’t answer and the sheriff continued. “After a search of the place, do you know what they found? That’s right. They found the wagon and they found the nigger you had to leave behind. I’ll tell you that those Carlton boys were real upset with Gilmore what with him helpin niggers escape, especially since their brother was killed. So they gave his wife five minutes to get what she could from the house before they set fire to it. Then they scattered the livestock and set the barn on fire, too. Those boys sure do have a good sense of justice. It was their intention to take Gilmore to Chattanooga to stand trial for treason, but don’t you know he tried to run and the boys just had to shoot him down. But that’s not the end of the story, not by a damn sight. The brothers sent one man back to Live Oak in the wagon that hauled them runaways along with the nigger they found in the barn. Then they took up the chase again. By the way, that nigger that went back to the plantation is dead. It turned out that he was the scum that did in the overseer. They hanged him and threw his body in the hog pen. And now we come to the part of the story that will interest you the most, Mr. Mason. Our livery man here in town, Merle Fitch, goes out to Live Oak now and then to do some blacksmithin chores. As it happens, he was out there yesterday, and when he saw the wagon that the Carlton boys sent back he recognized it as the one he sold to you. When I found out you were out of town I had Roscoe here, do some sentry duty, and when he saw you sneakin around out back tonight he came and got me. But, I promised you all a party, and I always keep my word. We’re gonna have a necktie party.”
Up until that moment, Wilkes had been smiling and having a very good time. James despised the man and his matter of fact way of describing the destruction of a good family like the Gilmores. Then the sheriff’s demeanor changed, the smile turned ugly, and he said, “After all you did and you still have the guts to come back to this town with two more runaway niggers. I warned you before about what I’d do if I could prove that you were up to no good. Well, I won’t waste time or expense on you now my friend. I don’t even need to know if your name is really Mason. I reckon I can put Nigger Lover on your marker and it will serve you just as good. As for you, Miss Polly, I think I’ll let you sit in my jail for a few days so you can think twice about getting mixed up with a lowlife traitor like this again. Roscoe, go over to my office and fetch that hangin rope that’s on my desk and hurry up about it. I wanna get this thing done.”
Roscoe stood his shotgun up against the wall and hurried out the front door. James was frantic in his mind trying desperately to think of a way out of his predicament. He knew if he failed he was going to be dead in a very short time.
The minutes ticked by. It wouldn’t take Roscoe long to get back with the rope. James wondered where the sheriff intended to take him. There were trees close by that would be large enough. He looked at Polly as if to say that he was doomed.
“Sheriff Wilkes,” said Polly. “Since you mean to put me in jail, may I please get a few things from the trunk over there to take with me?” At first, the sheriff did not seem inclined to be at all agreeable, but then he relented.
“You can take a change of clothes if you want to.” He did not pay much attention to the seemingly harmless girl as she went to the trunk and opened the lid. He just sat there holding a steady stare at James. Polly bent over, took a dress from the trunk and while maintaining her posture, she folded it. But when she straightened up and turned toward the sheriff, she was holding a six shot pepper box in her hand. James had never seen a man so taken by surprise. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“I’m keeping you from committing murder,” she answered.
“Murder! Have you lost your mind?”
“Don’t try to stall, Sheriff. Roscoe will be here any time now. With your left thumb and finger, pull those guns out one at a time and toss them across the floor. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”
James had no idea whether or not Polly would actually pull the trigger, and apparently the sheriff wasn’t too sure either. But he was not willing to find out. He did as he was told, and when he was unarmed, she backed over to James and produced a straight razor, which she had also removed from the trunk. Polly cut the ropes from James’s wrists and he quickly gathered the guns from the floor. Then he removed the shells from Roscoe’s shotgun and put it back against the wall. He took his seat again, holding his revolver behind his back. “Now, Wilkes, you be still and don’t be tempted to call out to Roscoe. We’ll just let him walk in like the obedient little fellow he is.”
Just a single breath later, Roscoe walked thro
ugh the door carrying a coil of rope with a noose on one end. He picked up the shotgun then turned to Wilkes and said, “Are we all set, Sheriff?”
“Not quite,” said James, as he stood up aiming his revolver in their direction. To give credit where it is due, Roscoe showed more nerve than the sheriff as he raised the shotgun and pulled back the hammers. To James he said, “You better be a good shot because if we both pull the trigger, there ain’t no way I’m gonna miss.” James didn’t answer. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out the shotgun shells and held them up for Roscoe to see. “Now lay it down and push the door shut. OK, Wilkes. You and your partner go sit on the floor with your backs to the wall. Polly, cut Israel loose.”
James reloaded the shotgun and handed it to Israel. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Yes, sir, I knows.”
“All right, then you stay over here far out of reach but you keep that thing pointed right at them. If they move a muscle, shoot.”
James knew he had nothing to worry about. Nothing in the world would keep those two bigots still like a black man pointing a gun at them. Then he took Polly out behind the house so they could talk without being heard.
“Are you all right, Polly?”
“Yes. I’m just a little shaken, I guess. I’m so thankful that the sheriff didn’t challenge me. I’m not sure what would have happened.”
“I owe you my life. I’m very grateful.”
“I had to do something. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if they’d hanged you.”
“You’ll have to go with me now, you know that.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m sorry, Polly. This is your home.”
“It’s all right, James. It was different when mother was alive. There is nothing here for me anymore. I want to go with you. Where did Israel and the boy come from?”
“I’ll explain that on the way,” said James.
“Will we go to Pennsylvania?”
“Eventually we will. First we’ll head to Petersburg, Virginia. I’ll explain that, too. Right now we have to decide what to do with Wilkes and Roscoe. We have to keep them quiet for as long as possible. Once they spread the word we will all be fugitives. We won’t be safe until we are up north. We also have a transportation problem. We need a horse and wagon, or at the very least, one more horse.”
“There is a wagon down in the shed. It belonged to mother but it hasn’t been used since our old horse died three years ago.”
“That will help except that the only horse we have is Star. She’s a saddle horse and I don’t know how she will like pulling a wagon. But, I guess we have to try it. First I’d better get our two friends inside taken care of.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’ll tie them up and gag them. Hopefully they won’t be found until sometime tomorrow. That’s the best we can hope for. We’ll try to hide Israel and the boy in the wagon. Maybe we can pass for two harmless travelers. You should pack whatever you need to take along. We have to get moving.”
James went inside and secured the hands and feet of Sheriff Wilkes and Roscoe with Israel standing guard. All the while, the sheriff spewed threats about what he’d do when he caught up with them. Irritation finally gave way to anger and James told him, “You know something, Wilkes, if I had it in me, I’d take you out someplace and shoot you. Then he shoved a gag into Wilkes’s mouth to shut off further comment. James hitched Star to the wagon and led her up to the back door. Everyone helped to load what they could take from Polly’s house, Israel and the boy hid under blankets, and they headed north leaving a lot of trouble tied and gagged in Dry Branch.
TWELVE
Deception in Petersburg
It was obvious from the start that Star was not happy with her new job, but James managed to keep her moving along. This trip north would be much different than the others because now he had Polly to worry about. More and more he was concerned that what he was trying to do was affecting the lives of so many people. He was already indirectly responsible for the deaths of the overseer and one of the slaves from Live Oak. What happened to the Gilmores could have happened at any time but it still preyed upon his mind. James realized the unfortunate truth that nothing in theory is ever the same in reality. But his situation seemed to resemble the war itself in as much as now that it had started there was nothing to do but fight until the end.
As they rode through the night, James told Polly how he had come to be in the company of Israel and the boy. She was very touched when he told her about his Uncle Stanley, how he sold the boy’s mother, and how the boy yearned to see her again. “That is why we are heading to Petersburg. Uncle Stanley sold her to a banker named Stark two years ago. If I can locate him, maybe I can free the boy’s mother and we can reunite this family.”
“This is a wonderful idea, James. Have you told Israel?”
“No, not yet. I want to see if I can find her first. I don’t want to get their hopes up in case I fail. Two years is a long time. Maybe the banker doesn’t even own her anymore.”
All night long they traveled in a northeasterly direction and by seven o’clock in the morning they had reached Jackson, South Carolina. Before entering town they stopped to allow Israel and the boy a chance to eat as much as they could because, until they moved on, the two of them would have to remain concealed in the wagon.
Jackson was a small town and had no telegraph office; therefore, James was not terribly concerned for their safety. He put Polly in a hotel room so that she could rest and freshen up; James slept in the livery barn next to the wagon. Early that evening, they had supper at the town’s only eatery. They also had a basket of food fixed up to take along for the slaves; something better than what they had stored in the wagon.
The trip had gone well to that point, and as James expected, Polly was very pleasant company. It began to take on the feeling of a courtship, and even in the short time they had spent together he began to feel very comfortable with her.
After dark that evening, as they rolled through the countryside, off in the distance to the west they could see the glow of a large number of campfires.
“Must be an army camp,” said James.
“Is it anything to worry about?” asked Polly.
“If they found out we have runaway slaves it would be. They would arrest us as quick as the civilian authorities. We just have to hope no one has a reason to search the wagon; better yet, we have to hope we don’t even get stopped.” Over the course of the following few days, they passed by a number of Confederate infantry and artillery units, but managed to travel around them inconspicuously.
Petersburg was a thriving rail center with all but one rail line running to the Confederate capital of Richmond. It was a large city with plenty of danger for anyone trying to smuggle runaway slaves. The important thing was to keep them out of sight. If the four of them were not seen together it would help to foul any description that might be sent out. Surely Sheriff Wilkes and Roscoe had been freed by now, James thought.
However, getting to Petersburg was not the primary objective, but merely the temporary. James needed to locate the boy’s mother, if possible, and steal her away from her owner. He had casually asked Israel about his woman, ostensibly out of curiosity. Her name was Emaline; she was light skinned and approximately five feet tall. She had a noticeable scar on her right cheek put there by an overseer’s riding crop. James hoped this would be sufficient enough to find her.
They drove down Main Street until they came to a tavern with a sign out front boasting about their roast beef sandwiches. It was mid-morning and the establishment was packed with either late breakfast customers or an early crowd looking for lunch. James ordered four of the large, overstuffed sandwiches, a jug of coffee, and a sarsaparilla for the boy. He paid for the food and asked the man behind the counter if there was a place outside town where he might camp for the night.
“Just passin through, stranger?”
“That’s r
ight,” said James.
“If you head north out of town you’ll come to a bridge that crosses the Appomattox River. Just before the bridge there are wooded areas on both sides of the road. Just pick a spot and go to campin.”
“Thank you kindly.” On the way out of the tavern he picked up a newspaper, climbed into the wagon, and headed north.
They found a likely spot down by the river, far enough from the road to afford them some privacy. James devoured his sandwich while reading the local paper and when he started reading the back page, an advertisement caught his eye. “Listen to this, Polly,” he said. “For Sale. Four hundred acre farm with large house and out buildings. Perfect for raising crops and livestock. Interested parties should contact Zachary Stark, at Merchant’s Bank, 450 Canal Street, Petersburg, Virginia. That’s my man. That’s my opportunity to talk with him.”
“That’s wonderful, James. I just know you’ll find a way to get some information.”
“I’ll see him this afternoon. First I need a change of clothing. I have to look like someone who can afford to buy that farm. I’ll probably be gone for a few hours. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I have my pepperbox and I’m not alone.”
“No, you’re not. Israel says he knows how to use the shotgun. I think you’ll be safe enough in daylight. I’ll hurry back.”
James saddled Star and rode back into town. First he bought a fine looking suit in a secondhand shop. It may have been used, but it was in impeccable condition. Next he went to a bathhouse to clean up. When he walked out he could have passed for a rich Virginia planter.
He had no trouble finding the Merchant’s Bank. Sporting a look of importance, he strolled in and asked to speak to Mr. Stark. The banker was also very well dressed and was about sixty years old, completely bald, with a full gray beard. He may have been a banker by trade, but he was a bootlicker by nature and no doubt a man who slept with his money. For the masquerade, James had to change his name for a second time. He felt he had worn out the name William Mason, not to mention all the trouble attached to it. This time he introduced himself as Sterling Hargraves.
A Deeper Sense of Loyalty Page 12